Arnie Jenks and the House of Strangers Read Online Free PDF

kindly hang up, I have other customers waiting.’
    â€˜Hang on, I’m trying to think…’
    â€˜I will have to cut you off if you continue to hold.’
    â€˜Greylock…’ he stammered.
    â€˜And the person’s number?’ the operator enquired a little less harshly.
    Arnie looked across to Emily who watched him curiously.
    â€˜267525,’ he mumbled.
    The operator’s voice returned. ‘You have given me too many numbers. I require up to three.’
    Arnie was thinking hard. What did she mean? Then he recalled the excitable Mr Warbles lecturing them on the history of telephone boxes that once sat on every street corner and every village green. “There weren’t many around in the early days…very few in domestic homes and business premises
…
”
    Emily willed him on with an encouraging smile.
    â€˜Maybe you could try 525,’ said Arnie finally.
    There was a further pause before the voice returned.
    â€˜I have nothing higher than 88 – I’m sorry.’
    â€˜I dunno. How about 25 then,’ he snapped, imitating the haughty operator.
    The voice returned. ‘What you are asking for is not a private number, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜Oh,’ said Arnie disappointed. ‘What is it then?’
    â€˜It is where the constable lives.’
    â€˜Well that can’t be right,’ he said to himself, ‘that proves you can’t connect me after all…this is just a game…’ Arnie froze suddenly seeing a flash of his aunt’s house in his mind. He had grown to love her rambling, secluded front garden, where he played with her cats that nestled where the rickety picket fence was torn, hidden from the outside world by its twisted climbing plants. On the navy blue front door, a sign above the letter box read – “The Old Police House” – and further up a date laid into the key stone, 1889. The year the house was built. His aunt had lived there all her life inheriting from her father, it having been passed down through two generations before that.
    â€˜Are
you wishing to speak with the police?’ the operator continued, breaking into his thoughts.
    â€˜Yes…yes…perhaps I do,’ he said cautiously.
    â€˜Hold a moment caller. Putting you through now.’ Her voice was replaced by a series of short clicks before someone picked up at the other end. The words were pummelled by static, though he knew it was a woman trying to make herself understood. The line finally cleared and the voice tried again.
    â€˜Hello?’
    â€˜Auntie?’ he searched carefully.
    â€˜Are you in need of help?’ the voice replied with some concern.
    Arnie knew then that it was not his Aunt Lavinia. It didn’t sound anything like her.
    His face fell and the tendons in his toes unclenched.
    â€˜Sorry, no. I must have a wrong number.’
    â€˜You realise you have rung the police and so I have to be sure. Are you in trouble?’
    â€˜No idea really…I’m a bit confused…’
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜I’ve made a mistake. I thought I was calling someone I knew – my Aunt Lavinia Bailey. Sorry,’ he repeated, and his hand drifted towards the cradle to cut off the call.
    â€˜There is no Lavinia Bailey here but there is a Louisa Bailey.’
    Arnie recoiled as if he had just been stung by a wasp.
    â€˜I’m sorry, what did you say again?’ his voice quivered.
    â€˜I’m
Louisa
Bailey, if that is of any help to you. Who is it that is speaking?’
    â€˜Arnie Jenks.’ He shuffled nervously.
    â€˜Do we know each other?’
    â€˜No, I don’t think we do. I must have the wrong Bailey,’ he said slowly.
    â€˜I think you may have. But how funny to have picked us out of the hat like that and we have only had this telephone for such a short time. Real coincidence eh?’
    â€˜I’m sorry to have disturbed you,’ Arnie mumbled, a